


The Great Animas Caper

by okapi



Series: Many Times, Many Ways (the Christmas fics) [9]
Category: Basil of Baker Street - All Media Types, The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Case Fic, M/M, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8937601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: In the days leading up to the Animas holiday, Basil and Dawson are reunited with the Flavershams. But what seems an innocent puzzle turns out to have sinister implications for our favourite mouse detectives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gardnerhill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/gifts), [Garonne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garonne/gifts).



> References to gardnerhill's [A Holiday in the Country](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5531012) and Garonne's [LJ post](http://garonne.livejournal.com/28328.html) about a Sherlock Holmes display at the Musée de Automates (Lyon, France). 
> 
> Also for the LJ Watson's Woes 2016 WAdvent Open Participation Day No. 4: Alternate View. Includes reference to a Dawson-sized version of ACD's travel desk as seen on the [LJ post](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/1661491.html). Also references a Victorian Christmas card design mentioned in my own [Compliments of the Season](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5403194/chapters/19976968).

“Dawson, it’s a short excursion to the Continent, not an interminable journey around the world! You must travel lighter.”

“Basil, if you insist on a sea voyage that displaces us from our comfortable Baker Street home mere days before the Animas holiday, then I must insist on bringing the proper tools with which to continue my work.”

“Work? You’re inscribing cards!” He stopped his pacing and waved at the stack on the corner of my desk. “Cards featuring a ridiculous rendering of me riding that blasted lobster!”

“The Curious Affair of Neptune’s Prawns was your most celebrated case of the year, Basil. How could it _not_ take forefront in our Animas missive? And you’re wrong. Expressing gratitude to those who’ve employed your services this year, inquiring as to their well-being, and extending our own warm compliments of the season _is_ work and important work, at that. It’s good for business and it’s part of maintaining the fabric of society.”

I laid a card atop the pile.

“There, one hundred cards, ready to post, which I shall do from the docks. I’ll finish the remainder on the return journey, which I trust will take place _before_ Animas.”

Basil only grunted.

“And I shan’t hear you disparage this travel desk. I adore it. It’s handsome, elegant, inspiring, even. Cleverly designed and expertly crafted, makes pleasure of work, very much like the gentle-mouse who gifted it to me during last year’s Animas festivities.”

I paused and shot him a look, at which he had the good sense to redden and turn his attention to the world outside our stateroom portal.

“Be that as it may, it’s time to pack it up. We’ve arrived. And I, for one, am keen to hear what the Flavershams have to tell us.”

* * *

“Basil, Basil! Father doubted, but I knew you’d come!”

Miss Olivia Flaversham still overflowed with the _joie de vivre_ that had so charmed me and Basil, loathe though he was to admit it, at our first encounter. That occasion was very first case I shared with Basil, the one that brought a stout-hearted Army mouse, as he likes to call me, and the greatest detective in all of Mousedom, as the newspapers like to call _him_ , together as partners in all senses of the word.

“There, there, my dear,” said Basil, trying and, to my great amusement, failing to extricate himself from our young friend’s vise-like embrace. “I am pleased to see you as well.”

“I warned Olivia that the great Basil of Baker Street would have matters more pressing than our quaint puzzle to occupy him—in addition to Animas preparations,” said Mister Flaversham as he approached. “But she insisted on writing you, and when my daughter has made up her mind—oof!”

I laughed to myself as we shook hands and exchanged greetings. Mister Flaversham could not have been more wrong. Of late, there’d been such a dearth of cases that Basil had thrown himself wholeheartedly into his scientific researches. But by the time Olivia’s letter had arrived, it was obvious that even those had begun to lose their fascination. I had become genuinely anxious for his health while Mrs. Judson was in a similar state for the well-being of the cushions and other furnishings.

And Animas preparations? Mrs. Judson and I took charge of those as well. I knew for a fact that Mrs. Judson’s larder was stocked to bursting in anticipation of the coming feast, and just prior to our departure, I’d placed a sizable order for balsam-scented hay with which to decorate our humble home.

Indeed, Basil’s only role in readying our household for Animas, a holiday that began as a celebration of the longest night of winter but now was also tribute to the Blessed Animals who’d been bestowed sentience for their service at a divine human birth, was to gaze at the fire and pluck old village tunes on his violin whilst our good housekeeper and I toiled ourselves into country mouse sweats.

“Nonsense,” said Basil. “Dawson and I enjoyed the journey. Crisp sea air always stirs the blood.”

I was tending to the posting of the cards as Basil spoke, but stopped to consider whether my companion’s ill humour on the crossing might not have been impatience for a case, but rather a result of my attention focused somewhere other than his stirred blood. I filed the thought away for later reflection and finished my transaction.

“Now,” said Basil, “While the porter mice see to Dawson’s trunks, tell us everything.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Stolen clothes? And gears?” I repeated.

“Yes, there had been two thefts when Olivia wrote you. Yesterday there was a third. The timing of your arrival is fortuitous, for the humans have closed the display, but not yet dissembled it. You may view the scene of the crime, so to speak, now if you wish.”

“Lead the way,” said Basil.

* * *

“A charming spot,” I observed as we climbed the stairs from the address that served as the Flaversham home and workshop.

“And I daresay no better location for a toymaker’s shop,” confessed Mister Flaversham. “After our shared adventure, I was seeking a change of scenery for Olivia and myself so we made our way to the Continent. I answered an advertisement in a newspaper of all things, and Olivia and I found ourselves in this charming spot, as you call it. If I might make a comparison, for a toymaker, living beneath the humans’ _Galerie des Automates_ is like living beneath the table of a slovenly rich man. The crumbs are a veritable feast!”

“A clockwork gallery,” said Basil thoughtfully.

“There’s never a shortage of spare parts, models of craft, inspiration—“

“Were that one could say the same about crime in London,” mused Basil under his breath. I gave his tail an admonishing tweak. Olivia giggled, but her father took no notice.

“—and amusement, the latter of which Olivia and I both expressed at this exhibit.”

“Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Missing Pearls!” I read as we surfaced.

“Pearls are not all that’s missing, Dawson.”

There were six plaster human figures, each no larger than Basil or myself and all stark naked. There was also a horse and carriage of scaled size. The equine appeared to be unmolested. A London street scene was painted on the rear wall.

“You push a button,” said Olivia, “and they move. Watch!”

The scene sprang to life.

“This one,” said Olivia, scurrying between the moving pieces, “is Sherlock Holmes, and this one is Doctor Watson. They even took his moustache!”

“I say!” I exclaimed and stroked my own whiskers sympathetically.

“This one is the policeman,” said Olivia. “This is the baroness and her niece, Sophie. This is escaped prisoner, Jack Williams.”

“I thought that you said that gears were missing as well as clothes,” said Basil, looking intently at the figures as they bowed and twisted and straightened.

“Some gears,” said Mister Flaversham. “The first two thefts included all the clothes and the gears inside the Sherlock Holmes figures and the Doctor Watson figures, the third theft was clothes alone.”

“Curious,” said Basil, tapping his fingertips to his lips.

Olivia beamed. “That’s just what I told Father you’d say.”

Basil strode to the edge of the display. “And that document,” he pointed up, “taped to the outside window is the mystery that the tableau represented.”

“Precisely,” said Mister Flaversham.

Olivia skittered under the partition and deftly scaled the lower half of the outside wall. Then she launched herself into the air, and in one graceful movement, she and the paper curled to the floor. The three of us joined her on the other side.

Basil muttered to himself as he read.

“Baroness…niece…missing pearls…escaped convict…hmmm...serving sentence for horse-thievery…hmmm. Well, I’ve solved one mystery.”

“I told you!” cried Olivia.

“The niece stole the necklace, gave it to her fiancé the horse thief, who then fed it to the horse. This Williams had plans to steal the horse and wait for the animal to excrete the jewels when he was apprehended by police.”

We followed Basil as he returned to the display. He rushed towards the horse and felt about its belly. Suddenly, a small door opened and a string of white beads fell to the floor.

“By Jove, Basil!” I ejaculated.

“Elementary, my dear Dawson.”

“Hurrah!” cried Olivia. She and her father clapped.

“I’m afraid the rest of the puzzle remains a mystery for now,” said Basil, frowning. “There could be a simple explanation, but on the other hand…”

He turned away and began muttering to himself.

“Then perhaps some lunch?” suggested Mister Flaversham.


	3. Chapter 3

"The most horrendous crime that I can see, Basil, is you not partaking of these scrumptious _fromages_.”

“I’m thinking, Dawson.”

Thinking and smoking down-wind from our delectable lunch because I would not have his pipe smoke spoil it.

“I’d love to show you two around the town,” said Olivia.

“Uh,” I glanced at Basil, “that would be lovely. I have a few cards to finish, then perhaps our tour can take us by the docks, where I’ll post them. Basil will be occupied, I think.”

* * *

“…all I am saying is that you could have spared a word or two for our kind hosts, Basil.”

“Mm?”

“Oh, never mind. There, that’s the lot of our Animas cards. Well, I’m going to take a stroll about this lovely place and enjoy Olivia’s company whilst you ruminate.”

“Mm.”

I rose and put on my coat. “You know, the Flavershams. Dolls, or sort of dolls, mechanical marionettes. Uniforms, or clothes, rather. Gears. It’s a bit, well, déjà vu. Our first case together all over again. And considering where we find ourselves, I suppose the term is appropriate, isn’t it, Basil?” I chuckled to myself. “Basil? Oh, goodness. Until later, my good mouse.”

I left him on the balcony of the guestroom, lost in a cloud of tobacco and his own contemplations.

* * *

“Oh, Basil!”

“Dawson! If you had not returned, I would have sought you out.” He gave me a loud noisy kiss upon the snout, to my young companion’s squeal of undisguised glee. “You are never the most luminous of mice, my dear mouse, but as a conductor of light, you are unbeatable!”

“Oh, well.” I felt my face warm, and my whiskers twitched of their own accord. “But, I say, Basil, we have something to tell you as well. Olivia and I found what may be a valuable clue on the docks.”

“You first,” he said.

I nodded to Olivia.

“While Doctor Dawson was posting his cards, a strong wind came up and blew the top one off the stack. It landed near the water. I chased after it and beneath the docks, snagged on a nail, I saw something.”

“Something?” asked Basil.

“The dress of the niece!” Olivia produced it from behind her back. “I recognised it at once because it was such a lovely pink colour. I collected it.”

“Through some terrifying acrobatics,” I interjected.

“And in the folds of the wet fabric was a scrap of paper.”

Basil’s eyes widened.

“It disintegrated at my touch, Basil.”

He deflated instantly.

“But not before we read it,” said Olivia. “It said, ‘NO DRESSES STOP YOU GIBBERING LITTLE MANIAC STOP.’”

“Oh, this is fine work!” cried Basil, reanimated. “And it fits with my own thinking.”

“Which is?” I asked.

“Ratigan. And Fidget.”

I shuddered. Olivia gasped.

“I believe that both survived and that some horrible evil scheme is being set in motion even as we speak," said Basil.

“Then Olivia and her father are in danger.”

“Quite possibly. You come armed, Dawson?”

“As always.”

“Then we will keep vigil tonight.”

“And I must tell Father!” cried Olivia.

* * *

“Here,” I said later. “Olivia asked me to give you these sketches of the stolen clothing. Her father made an inventory of the missing gears. You think Fidget survived as well?”

“Yes, that particular term of endearment in what was obviously a pigeon telegram, ‘GIBBERING LITTLE MANIAC,’ is one I’ve only heard used by Ratigan when speaking to his henchbat.” Basil studied the drawings, then shook his head. “Did you look at these, Dawson?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d give you first crack, ol' chap,” I replied with false cheerfulness.

“Oh, my dear, dear mouse, I may have been wrong, terribly wrong.”

“About what?”

“Look.” He held up a sheet of paper. “Are these the clothes of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson?”

My jaw dropped. “Well, of a sort, but they also look awfully like the clothes of Basil of Baker Street and Major David Q. Dawson.”

“Exactly. That supports my theory about the instruction regarding the dresses. We’re lucky that one survived whatever method Fidget used to dispose of them. If I am not mistaken, you and I—not the Flavershams—are now our adversary’s primary targets. Perhaps we always were. And though I have many enemies, dead and alive, I have only one archenemy who might go to such lengths for revenge. But the question is: where will he strike, here or much closer to home? Any scent will have washed off the dress itself. Was Fidget headed back to England when he rid himself of them or is he still lurking in the shadows, with more to cross off his nefarious list?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference to gardnerhill's [Egg Hunt](http://archiveofourown.org/series/137172) series as well as [A Holiday in the Country](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5531012%22).

I had no answer for Basil’s questions.

Time passed. Neither of us spoke. I busied myself by packing and repacking our belongings.

Suddenly, there was a thunderous peck at the window. A single blinking eye filled the dark pane.

I screamed, but Basil, brazen, but beloved fool that he is, tore open the shudder and threw up the sash. My hand went to my gun at once.

“Mister Basil!” puffed a huge grey bird. “Mrs. Judson said I could find you and the doctor at this address.”

“Mrs. Judson? Has something happened to her?” Basil queried. My blood froze at the thought of our housekeeper, too, embroiled in Ratigan-plotted evil.

“Not her, sir. You! And the good doctor. Mrs. Judson’s nephew Henry, you know, the one that works at the newspaper, says this is going to be the headline all across Mousedom tomorrow morning.”

I read over Basil’s shoulder.

“‘FAMED DETECTIVE GONE ROGUE! THREE HEINOUS CRIMES IN ONE NIGHT! MOUSEDOM AGHAST!’”

“Basil, it says that you—and I—orchestrated a riot at Mouseville Prison, a break-in at the vault of the Bank of Cheese, and—oh my!—the theft of the Crown Jewels. Eye-witness accounts!”

“Not us, Dawson, clockwork versions of us. Those were the figures spotted by the so-called eye witnessed, no doubt all creatures in the pay of Ratigan, while the real criminals went to work. That’s what the theft of the clothing and gears is all about. Creating facsimiles of us—just as he did with Her Majesty—much simpler ones, naturally, but convincing enough to dupe possible onlookers. There’ll be a carefully posed photograph or two for the papers, certainly.”

“What a blackguard!”

“Indeed, Mister Albatross, are you equip to handle a pair of passengers, express service to London? You will be remunerated for your trouble, I might add.”

The bird frowned. “I’ve only taken post before, but, I know how you helped Sir Henry with that Lady Morcar business. And them gulls Alice and Gertie.”

“You know about all that?” I asked.

“I’m a mail bird, sir. I’m in the business of knowing. Yeah, I’ll take you. Mind you, it’ll be in my pouch.”

“Oh, Basil!” Across the Channel in a mail pouch! I shivered.

“This fine bird is certainly our speediest and most inconspicuous method of returning to London, Dawson. The police will be looking for us on a boat. And we must arrive before this news has spread.”

“People are surely already talking, Basil. And we’ll be arrested at once!”

“It will just be rumour until it’s in black and white and read all over. But then it will be very difficult to put the genie back in the bottle, so to speak. Plus, Ratigan will have to link us directly to the crimes and we must catch him red-pawed when he does. Come, there’s not a moment to lose. Let’s see, we need disguises and,” he looked up, “I know just where to find them.”

After a very hasty and tearful farewell to hosts and even hastier and more tearful, at least for me, change of clothing, Basil and I were aloft, nestled amongst international correspondence and entwined together for warmth, both corporeal and ephemeral.

“Pirates, Basil?”

Blasted déjà vu! I was once more festooned with eye patch and earring.

“It was the closest to sailor on offer, my dear Dawson. And you look perfect.”

“Perfect foolish, you mean. At least, Olivia and her father promised to forward my trunks if, if….”

“Dawson.” He tightened his embrace. “This will all be over soon and then we’ll have the warmest, cosiest Animas celebration in all of Mousedom.”

“Right,” I said with nod. “What’s the plan?”

“That’s my stout-hearted Army mouse! All right, first, we go to the Rat Trap, and then…”

* * *

Given the wee hour of our arrival at the Rat Trap, there was no charming chanteuse to distract me from the task at hand, but all the same I could not resist drumming my paw upon the table and humming an off-key version ‘Let me good to you’ once Basil and I were seated at the bar. And though Basil and I as jolly buccaneers did not precisely blend into our surroundings, our information-gathering efforts were fruitful. The riot had been quickly subdued; no fugitives remained at large. Interestingly, no reserves had been stolen from the Bank, though security had been breached. But finally, and most importantly, the Crown Jewels had been taken, but no attempt to sell them or smuggle them out of the country had occurred thus far.

“Now what?” I whispered.

“Baker Street. The other crimes were smokescreen, it’s Crown Jewels are the lynch-pin to the whole matter. They appeal to Ratigan’s greed, his vanity, and his ego. He’ll keep some, but I suspect he will plant some in our lodgings and then alert the police. That, he thinks, will seal our fates. One problem, you’ll remember, with Ratigan is that he has too many ideas.”

“I remember far too many weapons pointed at us, yes.”

“The prison, the bank, the Tower of Mousedom. He wants to show us how clever he is, but we will best him yet!”

Dawn was moments away from breaking when I saw with my own eyes what Basil had predicted: a sewer rat squeezed into a mouse-sized detective cloak and hat slinking across our Baker Street threshold. He was closely followed by a peg-legged bat in brown tweed and a moustache.

“How could anyone think that was me?” I protested.

“The clockwork versions no doubt bore a closer resemblance, but I was right when I asserted that Ratigan would not entrust this delicate task to any bumbling hench-animals alone. NOW, DAWSON!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mister Tibbert is from gardnerhill's ["What Does the Fox Say?"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/698458/chapters/14157505). Alice and Gertie are from the [Egg Hunt](http://archiveofourown.org/series/137172) series.

"NOW, DAWSON!"

But now, I quickly discovered, was too late.

BOING! BOING!

“Mrs. Judson?”

“Trespassers, beware! My cheese and onion pies are private property! You don’t fool or scare me, scoundrels!”

Fidget was a motionless heap on the rug. Ratigan was hunched, groaning and holding his head.

Basil quickly tied Ratigan’s paws with a curtain sash while Mrs. Judson kept her skillet—and I kept my gun—trained on them.

Outside there was the sound of paws scurrying on cobblestone.

“Police!”

“Oh, thank goodness!” I said as the three uniformed mice entered. “This creature, whom you’ll no doubt recognise, is responsible for those horrible crimes of last night, the ones attributed to Basil of Baker Street and myself.”

“Dawson," said Basil.

“He’s got some of the Crown Jewels on him,” I continued, inching forward then, with one paw, snatching the small sack peeking out from the lining of Ratigan’s cloak. “He was attempting to plant them here when he and his accomplice were subdued.”

“Thank you, sir. We’ll take those…”

“Dawson.”

“…and you,” added the officer gruffly.

Suddenly, three guns were trained on Basil, Mrs. Judson and myself.

Maniacal laughter erupted.

“Oh, poor, poor Basil! Always one step behind. And I do empathise, having to put up with simpletons, really, I do.”

Ratigan broke free of his bonds. He waltzed in a zigzagged path between Basil and myself until he was safely behind the armed mice.

I recognised the uniforms from Olivia’s sketches and groaned.

“Yes, Doctor Dawson, it is a pity. Oh, well, the sun’s coming up and every mouse in Mousedom is unfolding their morning newspaper and reading about the horrible, terrible, fantastically awful things that you two did last night. And in the streets of this fair metropolis and everywhere, the name Basil of Baker Street will forever be uttered as a curse, if it’s uttered at all. Oh, joy! You see, I didn’t just want to cut you into many pieces—oh, yes, I’ll get to that, too, I promise—I wanted to make sure that even your legend dies a gruesome death. The gentlemaic will lead you to your doom and my friend and I,” Ratigan produced two sets of clothes, one he threw at Fidget, “will disappear into the miasma, quicker than you can say ‘Jack Williams the horse-thief!’”

He laughed, then added ghoulishly,

“But don’t fret. I’ve asked them to save your whiskers, Basil. They’ll make a fine boutonniere. But now I really must sing.” He threw back his head. “Goodbye, so soon, and isn’t this a crime?’ Oh, it is, it is, isn't it?”

He crooned the miserable ditty as he and Fidget quickly changed clothes.

“Do your duty,” said Ratigan with his claws on the doorknob.

The three mice menaced us with their weapons. “Paws on your head.”

We obliged and marched to the door single file. Light from the street blinded me for a moment, then there was a loud mouse-squeak from in front of us.

“He ain’t a-done it!”

And a pair of sonorous human baritones wafting from the above.

_“My goodness, Watson, you may be correct about strange occurrences marking the winter solstice. There’s a veritable plague of vermin outside our doorstep this morning.”_

_“Vermin, Holmes?”_

_“About a hundred mice.”_

“Release them,” said a mouse, pushing to the front of the crowd. “They're innocent.” He held a newspaper declaring our misdeeds in one paw and a card bearing the picture of Basil riding a lobster in the other. “They’d never do those things, not Basil of Baker Street and Major Dawson, no!”

The crowd shouted in agreement. I recognised many of our clients, friend, and associates in attendance. More than a few were still clutching our Animas greeting.

“Step aside, all of you!” cried a ruffian policemouse. “These are dangerous criminals!”

“We don’t believe these so-called news stories!” cried a mouse.

Another piped up. “We believe _our_ stories, the ones we seen with our own eyes! Basil of Baker Street and Major Dawson are heroes!”

I twisted and a  look passed between Basil and myself. He gave me a slight nod, then his chest inflated and he bellowed,

“IT’S HIM! RATIGAN! HE’S BEHIND ALL THIS WICKEDNESS! THE WORLD’S GREATEST CRIMINAL MIND! GOOD MICE OF MOUSEDOM, I IMPLORE YOU, DON’T LET HIM ESCAPE!”

Basil pointed. Heads turned. At the far edge of the throng, Ratigan and his peg-legged crony froze.

“AND THESE ARE HIS SCOUNDREL-LACKEYS. WHY SOME OF THE CROWN JEWELS ARE STILL ON THEM!” I added at the top of my voice, waving at the villainous policemice.

The crowd split. Half chased after Ratigan and Fidget. The other half seized the three uniformed ruffians and their weapons.

“Take that!” cried Mrs. Judson. She wielded what must have been a borrowed—or perhaps retrieved—skillet.

BOING! BOING! BOING!

Basil and I followed the crowd pursuing a fleeing Ratigan and Fidget, but I paused when I heard my name called from above. I looked up into the beaks of a pair of old feathered friends.

“Now don’t you worry, Doctor, those teeny no-good mice’ll be gone faster than you can say…”

“…’three bites is a tasty first breakfast’! Come on, Gertie!”

“After you, Alcy!”

I nodded and out of the corner of my eye, spotted a thick red-furred tail moving swiftly toward the entrance of our home as well. A quick, articulate ‘Compliments of the season, Doctor’ was all I heard—and wanted to hear—from Mister Tibbert.

_“I say, Watson, a melee seems to have broken out in street. There are now sea gulls. And a fox!”_

_“I’ll set Toby on them. He’ll put a stop to it.”_


	6. Chapter 6

At first bark, the crowd dissolved.

“Toby!” I called and flung myself at the hound, clinging to his furry side, then climbing onto his back. “Charge!”

We soon caught up with Basil, who immediately jumped aboard.

“Fidget is not worth our time, Toby. Toss him to the crowd and keep after that dirty rat. We must catch him before he vanishes in the sewers!”

“Or aboard an outward bound vessel,” I added as I could see that we were headed for the docks.

Toby did as he was bid.  We chased Ratigan all the way to the water’s edge. He’d lost his costume in flight, but still gripped a sack, a twin of the one full of jewels I’d handed to his disguised henchmouse, in one of his paws. He made a flying leap onto the deck of a vessel that was just pulling away.

He laughed as we halted on the pier, panting and groaning in frustration. Then he turned. “A small treasure for you, Captain, if you provide safe passage for me all the way to,” he looked at the side of the boat, then at the flags flying, “Sumatra. I hear it's lovely this time of year!”

The captain appeared. To my astonishment, he wasn’t a mouse or a rat. He wasn’t a rodent at all.

He was an ape, an ape that Basil—with the help of a crustacean band—had gotten off a murder charge.

“Nasty bit of goods, you are. And you must think everyone can be bought. Back at you, Mister Basil!” he said as he grabbed Ratigan by the neck and hurled him into the air. “And thanks for the beaut of a card, Doctor Dawson! The missus loves the lobster. Oh, it tickles her so!”

My final memory of Ratigan, the world’s greatest criminal mind, was of him soaring through the air, lungs shrieking, eyes bulging, claws digging into thin air, right before he disappeared into Toby’s wide, welcoming, tooth-lined cavernous jaws.

And as our hound-friend chewed and the gathering crowd cheered, Basil slowly shook his head and sang in a low, almost mournful voice,

_”Now as you see, this game is through. So although it hurts, I'll try to smile as I say, ‘Good-bye, so soon…’”_

* * *

Two days later, Basil was slumped across the arms of his chair, staring at the fire and plucking that same somber melody on his violin.

“I believe you’re right, Dawson.”

I climbed down the ladder, wiping my brow and brushing straw from my shirtsleeves. “That balsam-scent hay is a lovely change.”

“No, about the cards. They _were_ important.”

I nodded. “It was the best Animas gift that we could’ve received, knowing just how much our friends, neighbours, associates, even complete strangers, care for us. They believed our innocence, even with the newspapers told them otherwise, and defended us. Toby’s feeling much better, by the way. I’m not surprised that a sewer rat upset his stomach, but Mrs. Judson’s ginger biscuits set him right.”

Basil looked at me, eyebrow raised. “Oh, Dawson?”

“Yes, she saved a batch for you.” I took a deep breath and sighed. “Balsam hay on the ceiling. Cheese and onion pie in the oven. A fine vintage with cork just waiting to be popped. Ginger biscuits. Case solved. Jewels recovered and restored. We _are_ ready for Animas, Basil.”

“Almost,” said Basil.

_Knock, knock!_

Basil leapt to his feet and strode to the door.

“Voilà, Dawson!”

“My trunks!”

I gave him a warm hug, immediately set about unpacking.

* * *

“Basil? Look what I found in my trunk. An Animas gift from the Flavershams.”

“A music box?”

I wound the key at the base, then lifted the lid.

“Oh, Basil!”

A spirited tune played while Clockwork Basil and Clockwork Dawson ran in place. The scene changed as it scrolled behind the figures; first it was our Baker Street rooms, then a toyshop, then Big Ben, then the docks.

“BA-BA-BA-DUP-DUP-DUP!” hummed Basil. “I like it, Dawson.”

“So do I,” I said, grinning.

When the music and the clockwork figures finally slowed to a halt, the scene was a lovely village and the words,

_‘From our home to yours, with love, Hiram and Olivia Flaversham.’_

I wiped a tear from my eye and said, “Happy Animas to us all.”

Basil put a hand around my shoulders and said, “Indeed, my dear Dawson, indeed.”


End file.
